THE FIRST VIEW OF RORAIMA.
When Leonard came to himself sufficiently to see and understand what
was going on around him, for the moment he thought himself once more in
his days of childhood; for the first face he recognised was Carenna's,
his Indian nurse, who was bending over him in much the same way and
with the same expression as of yore. But, when he looked round, he
saw that he was in an Indian hut; and slowly the memory of what had
occurred came back to him.
Carenna, when she saw that he was himself again, gave a joyous cry;
then, conscious of her indiscretion, put her finger on her lips
to imply that he must remain quiet. He felt no inclination to do
otherwise, and soon fell into a refreshing sleep, which lasted for some
time.
When next he opened his eyes they rested on another pair, large and
steady, and that seemed to have a wondrous depth and meaning in them.
Then he saw that they belonged to the stranger who had pulled the
jaguar off, and was now sitting alongside the mattress on which he lay.
"Keep thee quiet, my son," said he in a low, musical voice. "All goes
well, and in two or three days you will be as strong as ever again."
There was something soothing in the mere glance of the eye, and in the
very tones of the man's voice; and Leonard, reassured by them, remained
passive for a while, till Carenna again appeared with a drink she had
prepared for him.
When, later, Jack Templemore came in, and Leonard was able to talk, he
found he had been ill for a week, and that he was then in the hut of
Carenna at the village of Daranato.
"I've had an awfully anxious time of it," Jack said; "but Monella seems
skilled in doctoring, and Carenna has been most devoted in her nursing
and attention and would brook no interference; so I've had to hang
around and pass the time as best I could."
When once Leonard had 'turned the corner,' as Jack called it, he
recovered rapidly, and was able, in a few days, as Monella had
predicted, to get about again. Nor was he any the worse for his mishap;
for the beast's teeth had just missed scrunching the bone.
When he wished to offer his thanks to Monella, the latter put him off
with a quiet smile.
"We think nothing of little incidents like that, my son, in a land such
as this. Your thanks are due to God who sent me to you at the moment;
not to me. Being there, I could not well have done otherwise than I
did."
It appeared that Monella had come out from the village a day or two
before to look out for them, and had fallen in with Matava. The Indian
had led him towards the camp, near which they had met Jack, who was
wandering about in search of Leonard. On learning that he was missing,
Monella had proceeded to the camp and thence--by some method known only
to himself--had tracked Leonard's footsteps--a thing that even Matava
confessed himself unable to do--and thus had come upon him just in time.
"When I saw how matters stood," said Jack, "my very heart seemed
to stand still. Neither I nor Matava dared to risk a shot, for the
brute stood up nearly facing us and holding you in his mouth. But
that wonder, Monella, quietly laid down his rifle and drew his knife,
keeping the beast fixed with his eye all the time; then he walked up to
it as coolly as though he were going to stroke a pet cat, put out his
hand and caught it with such a grip on the throat that it nearly choked
and had to let go of you at once. And presto! Before it could get its
breath, whizz went the knife into its heart! And he lifted it up and
threw it away from him, clear of you, as easily as one might a small
dog. Then he picked you up and carried you to the camp, as though you
were but a baby. The whole affair took only a few moments, and passed
almost like a dream. It's fortunate he happened to come out to meet us.
How could he possibly know we were coming?"
"I have always told you," said Leonard dreamily, "that there seems
to be a strange sympathy between my old Indian nurse and myself. She
tells me she 'felt' that I was in the neighbourhood, and sent word to
Monella, who at once went to her, and then came on to try to intercept
us. Only, you know, you never believed in those things. Yet here, you
see, Monella must have believed her, or he would not have had such
confidence in our coming as to wait about for us as he did."
"It's very strange," Jack admitted. "I confess I do not understand you
'dreamers.' I am out of the running there altogether.
"They say," he continued, "that from the top of yonder low mountain
before us you can see Roraima pretty plainly. But I had no heart to
go out to look for it while you were so ill, and, since you have been
getting better, I have preferred to stay and keep you company. But now,
I suppose, it will not be long before we set eyes, at last, upon the
wonderful mountain that is to be our 'El Dorado'!"
[Illustration: "THERE BEFORE THEM ... THEY SAW THE MYSTERIOUS
RORAIMA."
[_Page 39._]
When Elwood heard this, he became anxious to get a sight of the object
of their journey; so, two days after, they started before dawn, with
Monella, to walk to the top of the low mountain Jack had pointed out.
They reached the summit of the ridge just when the sun was rising,
and there before them, like a veritable fairy-land in the sky, they
saw the mysterious Roraima, its pink-white and red cliffs illumined
by the morning sun, and floating in a great sea of white mist, above
which showed, here and there, the peaks of other lower mountains like
the islands they once were, but looking dark and heavy, in their
half-shadow, beside the glorious beauty of this queen of them all, that
reared herself far above everything around.
It is impossible to give an adequate idea of the impressive grandeur of
this mountain, which might be likened to a gigantic sphinx, serene and
impassive in its inaccessibility.
Or it might be likened to a colossal fortress, built by Titans to guard
the entrance to an enchanted land beyond; for the cliffs at its summit
appeared curiously turreted, while at the corners were great rounded
masses that might pass for towers and bastions.
In places, with the light-coloured cliffs were to be seen darker rocks,
black and dark green and brown, worked in, as it were, with strange
figures, as though inlaid by giant hands. And everywhere the sides were
perpendicular, smooth, and glassy-looking. Scarce a shrub or creeper
found a precarious hold there; but down from the height, at one spot,
fell a great mass of water--like a broad band of silver sparkling and
glistening in the sunlight--that came with one mad leap from the top
and disappeared in a cloud of spray and mist two thousand feet below.
Further along could be seen other narrower falls like silver threads.
There was no crest or peak as with most mountains. The top was a
table-land, beyond whose edge one could see nothing. This edge was
fringed with what looked like herbage, but, seen through a powerful
field-glass, proved to be great forest trees.
Then, as the sun rose higher and warmed the air, the mist cleared
somewhat around the lower part of the precipitous cliffs, so that
far, far down could now be seen the foliage that crowned the great
primæval forest--the 'forest of demons'--that girdled the cliffs' base.
Gradually the mist descended, and the full forest's height showed up
like a Titanic pedestal of green, itself floating in the haze that
still remained below.
By degrees the mist rolled down the mountain's side, for below this
extensive forest-girdle the actual base and lower slopes began slowly
to appear, with waterfalls, and cascades, and rushing torrents and
great rivers dashing and foaming in their rocky beds. Then other
intervening ridges and patches of forest and open savanna gradually
came into view, with the full forms of the surrounding smaller
mountains, the whole making up a panorama that was marvellous in its
extent and in the variety of its shapes and tints.
But scarcely had the sun revealed this wondrous sight to their
astonished eyes, when a cloud descended upon Roraima's height.
Almost imperceptibly it grew darker, then darker still and yet more
sombre, till the erst-while fairy fortress seemed to frown in gloomy
grandeur. Its salmon-tinted sides, but now so airy-looking in their
lightness, turned almost black, and seemed to glower upon the brilliant
landscape. The forest also lost its verdant colouring and looked dark
and forbidding enough to pass for an enchanted wood peopled by dragons,
demons, and hobgoblins to guard the grim castle in its centre.
Then the cloud descended lower still, and castle and haunted forest
passed out of sight, as swiftly and completely as though all had been a
magical illusion that had vanished at a touch of the magician's wand.
Leonard rubbed his eyes and felt half inclined to think he had been
dreaming. All this time not a word had been exchanged. Each had seemed
wrapped up in the weird attraction of the scene; and the new-comers,
even the practical Jack, had been astounded, almost overwhelmed, at the
sight of the stupendous cliffs and tower-like rocks of the mysterious
mountain, and its changes from gorgeous colouring and ethereal beauty
to black opacity and shapelessness.
Presently Monella turned and led the way back to the camp, the others
following, each absorbed in his own thoughts.
Templemore was more impressed by what he had just witnessed than he
would have cared, perhaps, to own. Never before had he seen such a
mountain, though he had crossed the Andes, and had looked upon the
loftiest and grandest on the American Continent. To him there was
something about Roraima that was wanting in all other mountains;
a suggestiveness of the unseen, of latent possibilities. He could
now understand why the Indians regarded it with fear and awe. It
was, indeed, impossible to look upon it without believing that some
wonderful story was hidden in its inaccessible bosom; some mysterious
secret that it kept jealously concealed from the rest of the world.
For, perhaps, the first time in his life, he was conscious of a feeling
that bordered on the superstitious. What if that which they had
witnessed were meant to shadow forth a warning; to be an omen! Did it
portend that, should they gain the summit of Roraima, they would find
there indeed a sort of earthly Paradise, but that it would turn--as
suddenly and completely as the fairy-like first view had changed that
morning--to the darksome solitude of a charnel house?
But Leonard, for his part, when he came to talk upon the matter, was
only more enthusiastic than before; and Monella smiled with indulgent
approbation when, with the ingenuous impulsiveness of youth, he
enlarged upon his delight and expectations.
When they returned to the Indian village preparations were begun for a
forward move to the place Monella had made his head-quarters; not far
from the commencement of the mysterious forest the Indians regarded
with such dread.
During the march thither they had many more glimpses of Roraima;
finally they emerged upon the last ridge that faced it, from which a
full view of its towering sides and of the forest at their base could
be obtained.
Between them was a deep ravine, along which flowed a narrow river
dotted with great boulders. Having crossed this with some difficulty
and ascended the other side, they reached an extensive undulating
plateau, an open savanna with here and there small clumps of trees.
They were now almost under the shadow of the great cliffs, and before
them, three or four miles away, was the beginning of the encircling
wood.
Rounding the end of a thicket distant a mile or so from this wood, they
came suddenly upon a large and substantially built log hut, and this,
Monella told them, was his temporary residence. Near it were several
smaller huts roughly but ingeniously formed of boughs and wood poles,
which the Indians who worked with him had constructed for themselves.
As they entered the larger dwelling Monella thus addressed them:
"This, my friends, is where we shall have to live until our work in
'Roraima Forest' shall be completed. Make yourselves as much at home
as the circumstances will permit; we are likely to occupy it for some
time."
And a fairly comfortable home it was; far more so indeed than the young
men had ventured to expect. There was rough furniture, there were lamps
for light at night, a number of books, and many other things that took
them altogether by surprise.
"It must have taken you a long time," said Jack Templemore, "to get all
these things transported here, and this place built and its furniture
made."
"It has taken me years!" was the reply.
The Indians who accompanied them, numbering about twenty, were all
of Matava's own tribe; altogether a different race from those who
had accompanied them nearly to Daranato and had been paid off and
gone home. When Monella had left his abode, temporarily, at Carenna's
request, to come to meet the two, all the Indians had gone with him,
objecting to be left so near to the 'demons' wood' without him. Now,
however, they quickly distributed themselves among the huts, one acting
as cook and servant in the house, and Matava attending to all other
matters as general overlooker.
So far little had been said between the young men and their strange
host as to the objects and details of their enterprise. The
circumstances of their introduction had been so unusual that the
discussion had been tacitly postponed until Leonard should have
recovered sufficiently to take part in it. And even then, when Jack had
broached the subject, Monella had remarked,
"You had better wait till you have been to my cabin near Roraima, when
I can better explain the nature of the undertaking. Then, if you do not
care to join me in it, or we seem unlikely to get on well together, we
will part friends and you will merely have had an interesting bit of
travelling." So all farther explanation had been adjourned.
"I call this more than a 'cabin,'" said Leonard, when they had had time
to make a sort of tour of inspection. "I think we ought to give it a
better name. Suppose we call it 'Monella Lodge.'" And 'Monella Lodge'
it was henceforth called.